LARCENY IN THE HEART: STEVE CLAPP

Steve said that when he
was in the federal prison at Terre Haute, IN, the chain gang was the highlight
of the year. It wasn’t exactly a chain gang. But occasionally prisoners were
taken out to pick up litter along the highway. Steve said it was so delightful
to be out, beyond the walls of “stony lonesome,” among the weeds of the
ditches.

I had known Steve a little
before he went to prison. I had spent time in that prison, as a volunteer
chaplain while I was the Methodist campus minister in Terre Haute, to Indiana
State University and Rose Polytechnic Institute [now Rose-Hulman]. I had a
slight idea of how hard it was to do time there.

Steve had been a
colleague, another Methodist minister in my conference [geographical area]. He
was talented and personable. Among other things he was the counselor for the
Conference Youth Fellowship. Both of our daughters were vice-president of that
group in their high school years. They also had Steve as a camp counselor. They
thought he was great.

Steve was an entrepreneur
and visionary. When computers were very new, and most church people were hoping
either that they would go away or be developed slowly enough that we would die
or retire before we had to learn how to use them, Steve saw great possibilities
for their use in the church. He did not get much response from church officials
or colleagues, though, so he formed a company to provide computers to churches
himself.

He borrowed the money to
start the company. It wasn’t enough. He was soon in hock. He had to borrow more
money. To do so he had to show solvency and so forged the signatures of his
colleagues on contracts, saying they were going to buy computers for their
churches. Of course, this became known. He was tried, found guilty of fraud,
and sent to prison.

He ran, went “on the lam.”
He was pretty good at hiding from the police, but not good enough, of course. Off
to prison. That was when I began to write to him.

It was about all I could
do. I tried to send him books but could not, because I might hide files in
their spines. I tried to send him postage stamps but could not because I might
put LSD on the licking side. I tried to send him money, but could not because I
was not family.

But he appreciated my
letters, and he always wrote back. When his sentence was up, he was released to
the support of Church of the Brethren friends in another state. He knew I was
on chemo for cancer. He borrowed a car and came to see us. He told us stories
of prison life, how his mother died while he was in prison. He prayed with me.
We talked about what he would do next. He wanted to write a book about prison
reform. We gave him money for a copy.

Always the entrepreneur,
soon Steve had started another company, Christian Community, publishing books
for churches, on everything from stewardship to youth work to ushering. They
also published an excellent line of sympathy cards. Steve did consulting to
churches on the same subjects as the books Christian Community published. He was
a good consultant, good at helping congregations envision ways of serving that
they had not even considered before.

We had moved several
states away by that time, following the grandchildren. When Steve got close on
a consulting trip, knowing our grandson had cancer, he added a day to his trip,
rented a car, and drove 300 miles round-trip to come see us. He told us stories
of business life, and he prayed with us. We talked about what he would do next.
He wanted to “grow” his company to the point that it would be “acquired.”

It did not get acquired,
though, so he added another line to their business, investing the funds of
non-profit organizations. Steve was good at the production and marketing parts
of business, but not the financial. He made risky investments that promised
great returns but did not work out. He cooked the books, tried to hide the
problems. It didn’t work. He was arrested. Getting ready to go to trial,
knowing he would be going back to prison, May 15, 2012, he killed himself. He
was 64.

He always claimed that
when he first got into trouble, it was because the banker told him to forge the
signatures, since it was to the banker’s advantage, having loaned Steve money
in the first place, to be sure he did not go bankrupt. Given that Steve never
could deal fairly with other people’s money, that sounds patently false.

Steve was smart. He was
valedictorian of his high school class. He was kind and gentle and spiritual
and concerned for others. He worked for good causes. Why did he keep making the
same mistakes? Why was he a fraud? St. Augustine said, “There is larceny in the
heart,” which is a way of saying that sin, self-concern at the expense of
others, is within each of us. But not all of us actually DO larceny, the way
Steve did. He knew what he did was wrong. Why did he do it?

All the money he stole,
and it was a lot, there is no trace of it. He lived simply. He left no secret
stash, either in the attic or a Cayman Island bank account. Sometimes there is
a secret addiction, like gambling, that takes that sort of money, but there is
no evidence of that, either.

I mourn my friend, Steve.
I wish he had reached out to me one more time. I think what saddens me most was
how lonely he must have been at the end.